Time After Time
by ParaVox26
Summary: Various, unrelated one-shots following the relationship of Quinntana throughout different AU's or general ideas. MIGHT take recommendations if inspired. Writers, you all know that feeling when you get a good story idea and you just have to get it out of your system. Essentially, that's what this is for.
1. Wasted Time: Better to Have Loved & Lost

**Based on Vance Joy's "Wasted Time." I did cut out a few lines or change their placement and of course I just did this with open interpretation and, honestly, not a horribly in depth one. I just sort of got inspired by the general vibe of the song.**

Wasted Time

"You know when I said I 'Come watch Netflix and chill' I actually meant to watch Netflix and just flop around lazily," I comment as I run my fingers through her thin blonde hair that was softer than any velvet.

"No you didn't," she teases back. "Sure you meant just watching Netflix but somewhere deep in that mind of yours you totally meant the euphemism." When she says euphemism it makes me want to jump her again. How did we end up here? How did I get such a beautiful, intelligent, brave girl to fall in love with me? "If you had just meant watch Netflix you would've been in boxer shorts and a t-shirt not that sexy, sexy dress you were wearing."

I blush going back to the moment she walked in the door. I had texted her earlier inviting her over. The latest season of America's Next Top Model had just come onto Netflix and we both love making fun of them so I figured she'd enjoy it. Mostly, I just wanted an excuse to hang out with her. I considered staying in my boxer shorts like she said, but decided against it. I wanted to look good for her.

I didn't expect the result.

The moment she saw me she practically jumped me. Her hands were pulling up my skirt and sneaking into my underwear before I could even say hello.

I roll my eyes. "You can't prove anything," I banter back. Sure, I hadn't meant it intentionally but I definitely knew in the back of my mind that this dress happens to rile her up on occasion.

"It's not like you were complaining either, babe," she says, cuddling deeper into me. It felt nice to have feel her breath against my neck. Her body, on its side, snuggled up to me as my left arm encircled her, playing with the strands of hair.

"That's very true," I respond.

The two of us sit in a comfortable silence, just appreciating every moment we get to spend together before college comes and tears us apart.

College.

Holy shit college. I was so not ready for college. I was never one to take my high school career too seriously. I had bigger and better things to worry about. I was a closeted lesbian in a homophobic county who was in love with her best friend and needed to keep everyone from finding out. So I worked harder on building up my reputation. If that reputation meant partying more than studying and sleeping with boys more than an extracurricular so be it. Grades fell by the wayside.

Now I'm regretting that decision. I know that paying attention to my reputation in the halls of William McKinley saved me a lot of physical rigmarole, but it didn't save me any emotional blows. If anything it made them worse. It made it so much harder to come to terms with loving Brittany and that much harder when she broke up with me. I couldn't tell anyone and my best friend had deserted me. It was Quinn who found me and picked me up off the floor.

I wonder how much more time I could've had mackin' on Quinn instead of smackin' her if I'd done the smart thing, the sensible thing. If I had been brave.

But I wasn't brave. Quinn was always the brave one. She had a child in high school, kept up her grades, doled out the pain, and held my hand as the two of us came out. She had been my bravery. I wonder how much more time we could have in the future if I'd been more brave. If I had been brave maybe I would've fallen in with a better crowd – not that I regret any of my friends now – but I could've focused on my grades and been accepted for who I am.

But now it's too late. I hadn't prepared at all for ACT's, my grades were shit, and the only thing I was good for was a word-lashing and cheerleading. So when I applied to colleges I applied not for grades, but for cheerleading scholarships. But Connecticut doesn't really seem to care too much for cheerleading and there were no colleges to apply to up there. Meanwhile my girl was accepted to Harvard, Yale, UConn, NYU, and Syracuse. All of them were up North. All of them were places I couldn't follow.

She was a rich, beautiful white girl with a 3.9 GPA with great connections and a promising future ahead of her as a journalist travelling the world. I was a Latina girl from Lima Heights Adjacent with no notable talents to speak of with big dreams she'd never achieve and I'd probably just end up being the next Sue Sylvester, ending in the same place I started. The only thing weighing her down was me.

"Quinn?"

"Mm?"

"Why are you with me? Why did you choose me?" She immediately shifts her body so she can look at me more easily from our position.

I miss the feel of her skin against mine.

"Santana, what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about," I let out a sigh. "I'm some no-named nobody. I may call people a Lima-Loser, but I'm just like them in every respect. I'm going nowhere, Q. You're going off to fucking Yale. Why are you with me? You could do so much better than me."

"Santana," she says in this low, serious voice. Her hazel eyes are boring into mine so hard I wonder if she'll bore straight through me one day. "Don't you ever say that again." A fire flashes in her eyes. "You're not some Lima-Loser. You have dreams, baby. You have gigantic, crazy, beautiful wonderful dreams." She punctuates each adjective with a kiss to my neck, gradually moving up. "And I believe that you'll achieve every single one. You're a sexy, gorgeous, intelligent, confident, passionate, bitchy, loud-mouthed badass. And I love that about you. We are equals, Santana."

I could spend the rest of my life with this woman.

"Do you understand, Santana?"

I vaguely nod my head. Still caught up in the words that knocked me away.

"Good."

And she seals with all with a searing kiss against my lips that makes me never want to breathe again if it means I have to separate my lips from hers.

 **Why? Why do you go wasting your time on me?**

 **You're so beautiful now.**

 **There's so much for you now.**

"Good morning, babe," she says with a yawn and a hand run through her bedhead. I laugh at how ridiculous she looks. There's a bit of drool by her mouth, her make-up looks more like raccoon eyes than eye-liner, and her t-shirt is so disheveled I'm seeing more bra than not. Somehow, she stills looks beautiful.

"Hey, sleepyhead," I tease as I run the towel through my hair one last time, gathering the lasts of the water before simply letting it dry naturally, falling wetly down my back. "Did I wake you?"

"Yeah," she admits wearily, still half-asleep.

"I'm sorry. You can go back to bed if you want. We could always talk later."

"No, it's fine. I have a class in forty-five minutes anyways. This is a good way to get me up and functioning."

"Okay," I agree rather happily. I really need to talk to Q. We made a pact that we were gonna talk every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday no matter what. We haven't broken it yet. "So why are you so tired, Q?"

"I was up all night writing a stupid paper for psychology. Why do we have to take psychology anyways?" She groans as she gets up and walks over to her Keurig in the corner of the camera screen.

"I dunno. If you want some help I'm sort of killing my pysch class," I offer. I know that Yale's curriculum is probably a little different, probably a bit harder than Louisville, but the basics should still apply.

"Really? I'm glad to hear something is going your way," she says excitedly turning towards the camera. She knows I've been having some trouble in a couple of my classes lately. I'm just not happy here and it's affecting my grades.  
"Yeah, it seems to be the only thing going my way."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," she says, sitting down in front of her computer with a hot cup of coffee in front of her. I can see the steam rising on my screen. She takes a sip.

"Everybody here sucks. The other girls on the squad are either bitches or bores. All of the classes here suck ass. None of the professors could give a rat's ass about their students. All of the Glee-club equivalents are just weird ass hippies who do weed and sing Kumbaya songs. The only good thing around here are the parties."  
"I'm so sorry, babe that sucks."

"I know. God, I wish I could just drop out!" I let out an exasperated breath.

Quinn pauses before saying something I never imagined her saying. "So why don't you?" She looks at me with bated breath.

"Why don't I what?"

"Drop out."

I raise an eyebrow. Mrs. Yale education is suggesting I drop out. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. San, you're not happy. You hate it there. You're not even getting an education. It's a waste of money, time, and effort.

"What is it I would do instead?" I can't tell if I'm surprised I'm even considering this or surprised I didn't consider this sooner. I mean, I guess I just figure everybody goes to college. I mean, where are you going to get in life without college? Everybody does it. You're looked down on if you don't. I mean, when I was eight years old I used to play that old board game 'Life' and all the good jobs would only come if you went to college. Otherwise you were stuck with stupid garbage man/woman and veterinarian jobs.

"You always talked about how much better you were than Berry." I smirk. "Why don't you just come to New York? College is a waste of your time. You're meant for the stage, babe. You're meant to perform in front of crowds and smile for the camera, bring smiles to little kids' faces."

"Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack," she responds.

"Drop out of college?"

"Drop out of college."  
"And go where?"

She pauses for a moment to think. "You could always just move to New York. I'm sure Kurt and Rach would let you stay with them for a little while well you got on your feet. Plus, you'd only be a train ride away from me." She sends me a devious smile suggesting dirty things.

"Yeah… maybe. I'll think about it," I say. I know though, as soon as I say it, I'll do it. I'll do anything she tells me to do. There's no way to say no to her beautiful hazel eyes. I'd do anything to be one step closer to them.

"Of course, it's just a thought."

 **And why? Why do you go flashing those eyes at me?**

 **You know that I'm eager to please.**

 **I've always been eager to please.**

She points out the Yale University Art Gallery with such excitement. "There it is! I absolutely love it in there! You have to see it." She immediately begins to pull me by my hand into the large looking building. I sort of hate art museums. They're pretty boring and all the contemporary stuff is bullshit, but I really love Quinn. So I'll suffer through it for her.

The moment we enter Quinn lets go of my hand. I can't help but frown. The cold air hitting my hand for the first time in an hour isn't pleasant. She fishes out a $20 bill and her student ID to give to the guy at the entrance. He nods us through and gives her back $2.

"It's $9 for me to enter?" I ask. "That's really not that bad."

"Actually it's $18. I get in free because I'm a student."

"$18! What! That's ridiculous. To see some shitty art by some artists that won't be remembered?" A couple of students standing by some painting of a black line, it's literally just a black line on a white canvas, glare at me and because I'm Santana Lopez I glare back. "I can't believe you paid $18 for this… white canvas with black line!"

"Santana, hush. It's art. You just have to look and appreciate it. Not every piece will strike you the same, but you'll find your one and it'll stay etched in your mind forever." The only piece of art I want etched in my mind is your body. Jesus, when did I become so cheesy?

"What's your 'life changing' piece then?"

"I'll show you when we get there. Come on. Let's find yours!"

I grumble an incoherent but clearly annoyed response but allow myself to be dragged along. The first painting we stumble upon is called 'Unstable Talisman Rendering' by some guy with an unpronounceable name. It just looks like some black hole or an alien… maybe a really moldy ham? The most unstable thing about it was the artist. And that's what I said. But Quinn didn't laugh like I expected she would.

The rest of the museum didn't make any sense. Apparently they were having this special one-month only showing of all of Andy Warhol's works. There was an entire room dedicated to it. I'd heard his name before so I expected his stuff to be good. Turns out his most prominent piece was just a ton of soup cans stacked against each other. Such bullshit.

Eventually we reached Quinn's favorite was this weird portrait by Lee something-or-other. It was just this housewife in a ridiculously flowery skirt with artwork in front of her and painting canvas in her lap. It looked very 1940's housewife to me. Quinn tried to explain why she loved it so much, something about the coloring and the look in her eyes and the 'meta' concept of the whole piece but I couldn't really get it. She was speaking some foreign tongue, a silent language conveyed in the world of art, I simply didn't speak. It didn't matter though; her eyes were glowing the whole time. I didn't need to speak art to speak her.

When we leave the museum she pulls me around the rest of campus. This is only the second time I've been here. The first time I came down was when I first moved here a month and a half ago and we were too busy… reconnecting to wander campus. This time she cleared her schedule and I called work to tell them I needed the day off for lady-reasons.

I just didn't tell him it was lady-lovin' reasons.

When we finally finish walking around the gigantic campus, well parts of the gigantic campus, she pulls me into this diner. It's cutesy. It brings me back to the 1950's. The kind of thing you'd see in Grease. It was a real honest to god diner with 24-hour food and milkshakes.

I was so excited because absolutely nowhere in Lima does anyone serve milkshakes and it's a fucking shame. I've been drinking them like crazy ever since I arrived in New York because more places have them or at least will make them on request. Quinn loves them too. She raved about them when she first got here. Her first month here we couldn't go a Skype call without her mentioning milkshakes, so I figured it was pretty safe ordering one for her as well.

She changed the order to an iced tea and told me that no college students actually milkshakes. Those are for the little kids that come and visit their siblings.

It was so great seeing her otherwise. I had missed seeing her, laughing with her, talking to her, and just plain old being around her. Something about being around her always kept me relaxed. She made me feel safe in a world that's full of lurking demons and darkness.

"How are you liking New York?"

"It's pretty fucking amazing here. Everything moves so fast you barely have a minute to catch your breath, but that's what's so great about it. Down every city block there's some place that's just up and coming and another that's already cornered millions on the market! I absolutely love it there."

"Aren't you glad you moved?"

"Definitely. It's been a little hard making ends meet, but I'm doing okay. Kurt and Rachel are a fucking nightmare though."

"I'm sure they are," she says knowingly. "I love them so much, but I can't imagine sharing a bathroom with the two of them. They each have hour long night specials!"

"I know! I have to wait until like 1am just to get into the bathroom!" The two of us laugh as I tell crazy stories about their antics. That time Kurt got a boyfriend pillow and he bought them for Rachel and I. I told Quinn I'd show her my Pillow-Quinn sometime.

"Does it ever feel like your back in high school?" she asks.

"Yeah. A lot of times actually. It's kind of nice though. It's familiar," I admit.

She nods noncommittally. "I get it, but I don't know. High school seems so far away now. Like, I've grown up so much since then and it's only been a few months. I can't ever imagine going back."

I shrug, not really being able to relate. "Yeah, I'm just still going through that process."

She looks away, a bit distracted and lost in thought before turning back towards me and continuing our conversation. She tells me more about Yale and then about her life at Yale specifically and how she's met these really nice sorority girls. It figures Quinn would fit right in with them.

"So, when we get home I think you're going to have to show me what you do at work. Serve me ice cream and sing me songs on roller blades," she teases.

"Only if you tip well," I tease.

"Oh I tip very well," she says with darkened eyes. I don't know if she did it consciously or not, but she licks her lips in the most seductive way possible.

Just as I was about to suggest we get out of there really fast an impossibly obnoxious voice, like worse than Berry's in the morning, calls out a name all too familiar to me. "Quinn!"

I turn backwards, seeing a buff, college aged boy and his friend appear. "Hey! It's been a long time since I've seen you."

"Oh my gosh Brad!" She immediately jumps up to give the redheaded boy and his friend a hug. Before long the two of them are engaged in a conversation I can barely follow. Apparently something big is happening in the Middle East or maybe Middle Asia? What even is Middle Asia? Whatever it is, they're talking too fast and using phrases like 'anti-clericalism' and 'gauche caviar.'

It's only as those two get into a heated argument I begin to ponder what Quinn meant when she talked about high school. She's grown so much since then? I was a part of her high school experience? Am I growing with her or is she growing out of me?

 **But I, I've got a lot to say**

 **And I'm scared that you're goanna slip away**

 **And you, you've got this wide-eyed gaze**

 **And a smile that you'll carry through your days**

The moment I open my door a flood of relief floods my system. I wasn't sure she'd actually show up. Our schedules have been conflicting a lot recently. She needs to work on a project and the only time her entire group could meet was at the time we had scheduled or work had called me in to pick up an extra shift. It's been hard, but we've been making it work.

I immediately pull her in for a hug. I need to hold her in my arms, feel her against me. There are still days I'm not sure that she's real and I just need to be reassured that I didn't make her up. Today is one of those days. Shockingly, I really did find myself a true angel, and somehow managed to date her. "Hey Q," I say with a smile and a peck on her lips that turns into something much deeper, longer, and more passionate than a peck.

"Hey San," she says, separating our lips but attaching our foreheads. "God," she mutters. "It feels like for-fucking-ever since I've seen you."

"I know babe," I reply, just reveling in this moment.

Eventually, the two of us separate and begin to head into my apartment. "So, what do you want to do for the next," I glance down at my watch, "two hours?"

"I want to take you to the bedroom and make love to you for three hours," she says in that irresistible husk and darkened pupils that twinkle with thoughts of lechery. I can't believe she can still make my legs wobble like this.

"As delightful as that sounds we have plenty of time later. How about… I show you around the city instead?" I counter.

"I'd really rather take a tour or your body rather than a tour of the Empire State," she says, walking her fingers along my leg.

The amount of nervousness in my laugh is downright embarrassing. "Come on, Quinn. I haven't seen you in two weeks' babe."

"Exactly," she whispers in my ear, her fingers getting dangerously close to me giving in.

I moan as her hand slip into my panties, running through the wetness that has already appeared.

Just as I'm about to give in and let her take me then and there her fingers pull out of my black panties, which yes I did purposely match to my black lace bra. "But y'know what, a tour of the city does sound great. Let's do it!" With a kiss on my lips and a discreet lick of her fingers as she turns around, she flounces away from me and towards the door.

God I have never loved and hated a human being as much as I do her. "You're absolutely evil," I say as I make my way towards her and the door.

"To what are you referring? I simply agreed with you," she teases innocently.

"You're goddamn lucky I love you," I growl.

"I am," she replies sincerely as we make our way out the door.

The two of us decide that the best place to visit while still making it to our reservation was Time Square. It was classic, had a history of romance, and was pretty close to the restaurant we'd be eating at later. Sometimes I couldn't believe Quinn had been living only a couple hours away from this magnificent city and still hadn't seen so much of it.

"San?"

"Yeah Q?" I already know what she's going to ask. She's been vibrating against me for the last couple of minutes, staring excitedly at her target.

"Do you think we have enough time to… rent some ice skates?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Why do you ask?" I respond nonchalantly.

"Because there's a giant ice skating ring over there and I really, really want to go ice skating!" She's practically squealing with that puppy dog pout and begging hazel green eyes. It's absolutely adorable.

"I mean… I guess it'd be okay," I reply, knowing it'll make her day.

I thank god for those awful skating lessons I took as a kid because they're the reason I'm gliding on the ice and not stumbling like all these other chumps on the ice. Quinn is absolutely elated. I don't blame her. There's something sort of magical about being on the ice.

I'm barely listening to her right now, hands flying spastically around the place either out of pure, uncontainable happiness or perhaps because she's not particularly balanced on the ice. All I can think of is how different my life would be without her. I would probably still be in Louisville without her, struggling through some half assed on-and-off relationship with Britt and completely unhappy with my life. Now I'm in New York. Sure, I'm a shitty waitress now but I'm so happy. I have a girlfriend I love. I'm in one of the most amazing cities in the world. And I'm following my dreams.

I have Quinn Fabray to thank for everything.

 **It's the easiest way**

 **To know you're alive**

 **And the beauty you heard**

 **I see you talking with your hands**

 **Well I don't think she knows**

 **How she changed all my plans**

I don't come to her dorm room too often. The apartment I share with Kurt and Rachel is bigger and we have walls that hide what we do between our roommates, although I'm sure they can imagine anyways. But MGMT was coming to perform at Harvard and both of us absolutely love them. Plus, they wrote our song: Classic.

It's the first time I've actually seen her dorm room in person and beyond the door. It's nice. It's exactly how I'd picture anywhere Quinn was living to be. It was completely organized. Her bed was generally made, covers pulled up but not truly tucked in, and her books were piled neatly on her desk, but there were still a couple of papers still being used and studied lying out on the desk. Not a single loose piece of clothing was hanging out from the dresser and all her shoes were neatly ordered in straight rows. The only thing I hadn't anticipated were the pictures she had up on the walls, above her bed and a couple around her desk. It's not that I didn't anticipate pictures, Quinn had always been a sentimental fool, it's just that I didn't anticipate the faces in the pictures.

I figured that the pictures would be filled with the two of us together, our memories and adventures. There would be a picture of Britt or Rachel somewhere because they were some of her best friends. There'd probably be a picture of her and Puck somewhere because, after everything they went through together, it did actually make them closer. I figured that on one of these printed out sheets of paper would be a picture of the Glee Club winning nationals or a young Quinn and her dog or a picture of her family – the parts that she likes anyways like Frannie and her mother.

Instead I see 2 pictures of her and I together, one generic selfie of the Glee club we took for kicks one day, and a picture of her and Frannie. The rest of the photos are all friends she's made here at Yale. Faces I don't recognize. I notice that all these people in these photographs, people that are apparently important to her life, are people I don't know. And they're already outnumbering the pictures of us.

 **We look at the faces on your bedroom wall**

 **Nobody's perfect at all**

 **Well sometimes it makes me feel small**

"I love you," I say, my right arm wrapped around her shoulders.

She looks up from her phone for a split second to send me a smile. It's that smile that made me fall in love with her in the first place. The smile that could make me forget everything in the world except her. The smile that could break my heart if she wanted. "I love you too, babe." She tilts her head up and gives me a quick peck on the lips before looking back down at her phone, reading the stupid gray bubbles coming in on her group chat full of people in her psychology class.

I just want to sit here with my tea and my own cell phone playing Candy Crush and be content. But I'm not content. I know that not every second of the day can we be talking or having some intense meaningful conversation or unique moment. We need to be there for each other in the quiet moments too, but right now it doesn't feel like she's here. Her mind isn't with me. Her mind is off in another life that I'm not a part of.

"Hey Q?"

"Yeah?" she responds distractedly.

I pause my game. "Do you ever… regret staying together?"

Upon hearing my words, she quickly turns off her cellphone and turns to face me, getting out from under my arm. It feels cold, not warming against her skin. "What? No. Not unless you do," she rushes out, panicked. "Do you? Are you breaking up with me?"

"No," I reassure quickly. "I'm not. I just… I just want to know if you ever regret it? I mean, you could be off with some Yale hottie instead of cooped up in here with me. Carrying high school with you to college can be hard… disastrous even." I feel like I'm going to throw up saying these words.

"Babe, stop. You know exactly how I feel about you and about this," she says, brushing a hand to my face as she brings me into a kiss that no longer feels right against my lips.

Thinking she's reassured me she leans back into me and picks up her phone to continue texting. I pick up my phone as well as not to appear odd or insecure, but that's all I feel inside. I can't help but notice that she said, 'You know exactly how I feel about you and this' but she never did say.

I wonder if she didn't say it because she couldn't say her real opinions anymore.

 **Why do you go wasting your youth on me?**

 **You're so beautiful now**

 **There's so much time left for you now.**

It hurt, but I knew I was making the right decision. We weren't in love anymore. We still liked each other, we still enjoyed each other's company, but we didn't love each other anymore. There was no spark or desire or that feeling of coming home and peace knowing that you were in each other's arms. We were just a security blanket for each other now. We had to break it off before we couldn't anymore and neither of us had any chance of being happy.

It's weird, thinking about it, how I thought that we'd grow up and get married and have kids and eventually grandkids together. I was so sure she was my one. But things changed. Things I never thought would change did. We both grew and we grew in different ways, away from each other.

I don't regret a second of it – the growing apart of the being together. We both grew for the better and I know that. Quinn didn't need me to love her anymore because she finally loved herself and I didn't need Quinn to pick me up off the floor anymore because I could do it on my own. But without her, I never would've gotten there. I never would've gotten here, independent and following my dreams.

We were ships in the night. We could feel each other's waves, making dents in the hull we couldn't quite get out. But no matter the dents or the waves, we still never met.

 **The things that I thought would last**

 **Well they're fading, they're fading**

 **The feelings I used to have**

 **Well, they're changing. They're changing.**


	2. TiMER: Falling Regardless

**Any languages used in this were translated by Google Translate.**

 **I am going to finish The Cycle of Love, Life, and Blood. I have** **no intention** **of dropping it. I simply haven't had time to write until now and I've also been caught on a hard-to-write part. I hope to update it during my break now, but considering it's very near over who really knows if that'll happen.**

 **This is a TiMER story, but surprisingly the TiMER itself isn't all that relevant because the two of them still have to develop like any normal relationship. I'll probably write a more classic TiMER one-shot later on.**

 **I've been chipping away at this one for awhile, so I hope you enjoy it.**

TiMER

Quinn P.O.V

The navy and red lined uniform, with its perfectly pressed navy blazer, stares back mockingly at me. Once again I curse my father. I'd been happy at Dalton's Co-Education Academy. I had my friends and the occasional secret boyfriend. I was a junior and a shoe-in for getting my first ever solo in the Warblers and become co-captain of the cheerleaders. And I had worked my ass off to get into the AP's I did and knew exactly which teachers I wanted.

Then my father happened. He got into some idiotic debate with the headmaster. The school was heading towards 'Liberal Bullshit' as my father put it. When the school held a mock election where students voted for either Barack Obama or Mitt Romney, Obama had won. Since then he's had it in for Dalton. The school freely providing condoms in the Nurse's office had been the last straw. He pulled me out, demanded the tuition he'd paid for junior year back, and sent me to public school.

I begged and I pleaded with him. I had no intention nor desire to leave. But I guess my opinion about my own life didn't matter to him. Once he decided something that was it. Nobody else could sway his mind. That's the way it's always been in my house. The rest of us are just powerlessly obeying because what else could we do?

So now here I am, picking out my own clothes (probably the only benefit of going to public school) for the first day of junior year. I had always liked the idea of choosing my own clothes without restriction, but it's actually rather stressful. I liked the homogeneity of Dalton's uniforms.

Eventually I decide on a navy sundress with white daisies scattered on the bottom half of the skirt. I throw on a pair of white sandals and a navy shrug to finish it nicely. It's cute and fashionable. It allows me to look nice without being too overdressed. After applying the proper amount of make up and perfume, I make my way downstairs.

I feel like everything should be different now th at such a big part of my life is different, but it's not. My mom is still sitting at the table, reading whatever new book she's bought on the kindle. My dad is still scarfing down a plate of only bacon, a love I inherited from him, as he reads today's news in a nice black suit. Frannie's seat is still as empty as ever. Our maid, Lissy, is already scrubbing away at the pots and pans she used to cook breakfast. Absolutely nothing has changed.

"Thanks Lissy," I say somewhat dejectedly as I pick up my designated plate of bacon. She nods back.

As soon as my dad hears my voice he sets his newspaper down. "Quinnie!" He says with a wide grin. "Are you excited for starting your first day at McKinley High School!"

"Yes daddy," I say with a polite smile and a lie falling easily off my lips. I can suck it up and make daddy happy. No need to make a bad situation any worse for anybody else.

"Now, I know you're upset about leaving Dalton, but that place was going to the – now pardon my French – shitter," he says. "You're going to a fine new high school named after a great President and you're going to have a good time and do well there. And you know why?"

An unstoppable small smile creeps on my face. "Because I'm a Fabray," I parrot back the family motto that has inspired us to greatness for generations.

"That's right, baby!" He says triumphantly, raising his mug of coffee before picking up the newspaper again.

**TiMER**

The sense of sameness between the schools gave me a comforting feeling. The students were all still the same, gathering by desks and chair in small groups talking raucously with friends until the teacher appeared. The only true difference was that I was all by myself, doodling quietly in a notebook not yet ready to involve myself. I had to observe and see who would honestly make a good friend.

"Hello," a bubbly blonde says, plopping down in a chair next to me. She's wearing a bright red and white uniform that immediately grabs attention as I suspect it's supposed to. I recognize it instantly as the WHMS cheerleading uniform. I'd done some online research about McKinley and found out they have a nationally ranked cheerleading squad, of which I'm eager to join. I already miss cheering. Plus, the uniform everybody wears would be a huge comfort. It'd be like wearing the red and navy of the Dalton uniform. "I'm Brittany."

"Hi," I say, slightly confused as to why she decided to speak to me rather than her friends, but I won't look a gift horse in the mouth.

"You must be like, a really smart freshman to be in this class," she says with a glimmer of admiration in her eyes.

I almost want to laugh at the statement. I doubt any freshman could possibly get into this class. If anything, this class is already below me. I deserve to be in an Honors French, but no the faculty was afraid that the disparity between French levels at Dalton and McKinley may not have prepared me well enough and threw me into regular despite my protests. "I'm actually a junior," I counter. "My name's Quinn Fabray."

"Oh cool!" says Brittany, no less mesmerized in admiration. "It's great that you're so smart! French, is, admittedly not my best subject so having you here will be totes awesome!" Did she not just here me? I'm not actually some accelerated freshman. I should be an accelerated junior but she doesn't know that, yet she still assumes I'm smart? Not that I exactly have a problem with that, but I don't quite understand her logic. "So, are you going to be a cheerleader because you're totally pretty enough for it." Her finger innocently teases a strand of my hair.

I lean away from her a little, to unhook her finger from my hair, despite the fact she seems relatively harmless. "Actually, yeah," I say avoiding her finger. "I plan on it."

"Awesome! You and I are totally going to be best friends," she says enthusiastically. She finally drops her hand and stops touching me, seemingly unperturbed and unoffended by my lack of want for physical contact from her.

"Sure," I reply, still a bit unsure. She seems generally harmless and like she'd be a good companion. She's too bubbly to ever abandon or be mean to you. But she does seem like she could get on your nerves easily as well.

"I'm a cheerleader," she states.

"Yes." That was made very clear by your uniform.

"I can show you the ropes and introduce you to the team," she says. Well, that sounds promising.

"That sounds awesome," I say appreciatively. Maybe things here won't be so bad.

**TiMER**

Santana P.O.V

"Sandbags, get your slow ass in here," Sue calls out. God I can't stand that bitch. I admit she gets the job done and she takes charge, all things I can respect, but she's a bigger bitch than me. She pushes almost all of the girls to inhuman expectations and disrespects all of her girls, even her captain and best Cheerio in 20 years.

With one more roll of my eyes, I enter the room attempting to drop my anger and attitude. Sue will pick up on it immediately and rail me for disrespecting her and being an ungrateful piece of slime or some shit like that. Sue is, as ever, perched in her chair like she's the goddamned queen. The strange difference is the girl sitting in the chair to my left. I've never seen her before.

She's… drop-dead gorgeous. Without a doubt. She has thin blonde hair that immediately tempts my fingers, desperate to run through it and test whether it is as silky as it looks. She has pale, white skin that looks completely unblemished and the perfect amount of natural blush lighting up her cheeks. And her body… Jesus Christ her body. She was gorgeous. She had long legs disappearing under the fabric of the cheer skirt and toned, but still very muscular, arms. The real killer though was her eyes. Her hazel eyes were… unexplainable but they immediately hit my heart. I could literally feel my pulse race through my chest.

My eyes immediately flick to her wrist. No Timer.

I know that I'm standing here idiotically, drooling over her, but I can't seem to help myself. Once I realize why I'm here I immediately feel pity. She must be a new Cheerio who barely made the cut. I'm here to intimidate her, cut her down a few sizes (both emotionally and physically, although if you ask me she was already in perfect athletic shape), and make her recognize just how much work she's going to have to do to cut it as a Cheerio.

It's a pity to make a beautiful girl go running down the hall crying.

"Santana, stop eye-fucking the new girl," Sue barks. I can immediately feel my cheeks heat up. Thank god I'm brown enough to generally hide it. "This is Quinn Fabray. She's going to be your new co-captain."

It takes me a few seconds to process the words Sue just said, still caught up in embarrassment and attraction. Then, it finally registers. Co-Captain. "WHAT!" I turn to face Sue so quickly I could've gotten whiplash. "We don't even know this girl! I bet she's barely able to cut it as a Cheerio, much less a captain!"

"Don't assume to know anything about me," she immediately bites. I throw all possible willpower into suppressing the shivers running up my arms as she speaks. Her glare burns through my body.

"She's never even practiced with the squad. It could be a disaster! She's not qualified. If anybody's going to be my co-captain, which I'm not saying I'd accept, it should be Brittany!"

"Are you questioning my judgment, Lopez?"

My mind weighs the possibilities within a split second. I could say no and back down, accept this new girl, and appease Sue. It would be the easier way and it would be more rational. It'd probably be easier for me to take her down that way. Or I could sass sue and nip this in the bud right now, destroy all competition from this girl, and destroy her social reputation even more easily. Of course, because I am Santana Lopez after all, I choose the latter. "Hell yea I'm questioning you! You don't even know this girl and you completely went over my head without even talking to me about it!"

I know as soon as I say it I've fucked up, but I can't really find it in me to care. That bitch had this coming and I know that I'm right. I deserved to be a part of this conversation. This girl, Quinn Fabray, hasn't even tried out. I have no idea if she's any good. She could bring down this entire team and I'm just supposed to go with it? No! That is utter bullshit.

Sue rises from her desk, the wrath of a thousand and one suns burning in her eyes. "YOU DO NOT QUESTION MY ORDERS! I AM YOUR COACH. YOU ARE JUST A BRATTY CHEERIO WHO CAN BE EASILY REPLACED. ONE MORE SLIP UP AND I WILL MAKE GOOD ON THAT THREAT. YOU ARE ON PROBATON AS OF RIGHT NOW." Her eyes glare at me, her voice lowering sinisterly. "You will cooperate and work with Quinn. If I hear even one bad word about any of it, I will kick you down to the bottom of the goddamn pyramid. You got that?"  
I know that my gulp is visible. "Yes, Coach," I yield quietly.

"Good, now both of you get the hell out of my office!"

The two of us walk out of that office with bated breath, only daring to breathe once the latch on the door makes a clicking sound. Immediately, I turn towards her and glare. She may be gorgeous, but she's also intruding on my territory. She's a burden and I don't want her here. And I'm going to make sure she knows it.

Her lack of a Timer lingers in my mind like an afterthought.

**TiMER**

I. Hate. Sue.

Someday, when I'm a powerful multi-millionaire I'm going to discreetly hire an assassin to kill her in whatever nursing home she's been thrown into.

I sigh, hating how much I can't change my circumstances. I can't send a band of footballers to slushie Quinn because she's under Sue's protection and I can't argue with Sue because she'll kick me off the team. I can't afford to get kicked off the Cheerio's; I need them. Without the Cheerio's my Queen Bee status will be completely gone. I'll be just as liable to slushie's as another Glee club loser unless I want to start getting on my knees and selling myself like a whore to the student body. Plus, I'm relying on cheerleading to get me into school. Lord knows it won't be for my grades.

As I pull up to her house I can already feel my hatred burning through my bloodstream. She lives, of court on the West Side where all the rich whities live. I bet she's never even been to a neighborhood with an income lower than $50,000 a year. It's a huge stone mansion – and when I say mansion I mean mansion – that makes me wonder why in the world she's going to public school in the first place. It's clear she can afford some place like Dalton Academy.

My ten-year-old, hand-me-down jeep looks incredibly out of place in their driveway. I wonder how long it'll be until some white, old ass butler comes out and tells me I have to park it down the block because I'm ruining the houses' aesthetic.

I grab my book bag and make my way towards the marvelous door. As soon as I ring the doorbell the door opens. They have a fucking maid on stand-by. She's wearing the black-and-white uniform and everything. "Hello," she says.

"Hi," I reply gruffly.

"Are you looking for Ms. Fabray?"

"Uh… yeah. Quinn Fabray?" I specify. I don't want her to think I'm looking for the Ms. Fabray, like Quinn's mother.

"I'll go get her. Please, take off your shoes and leave them on the matt over there." Her finger points towards my left. "Don't want to track mud through the house," she says brightly.

She immediately makes her way out of the hallway and up the stairs as I take off my sneakers, which are pristine by the way, and leave them on the matt. I'm tempted to not take them off and simply track mud through the house to spite Quinn, but the only one that would suffer would be the poor maid.

A minute or two later, enough for me to hit level 2 on Candy Crush, Quinn finally made an appearance. "How nice of you to finally show up," I say sarcastically, stowing away my cell into my pocket.

She rolls her eyes, but says nothing in response. "Come on up," she says begrudgingly. As we make our way up I begin to truly asses her. Physically she definitely looks like she could be cheerio material. Her muscles are toned enough, but could still clearly use some work. Mentally, I'm not so sure she can make it, especially a Captain. The fact that she didn't fight me at all before when I insulted her she didn't say anything. She doesn't have the force and commanding presence you need to lead those slackers.

When we finally reach her room I feel like I've run a marathon. The amount of stairs we had to go up just to reach her bedroom is more than you can walk in my entire house. It's exactly how I imagined it… not that I've been imagining it or anything. "So, do you even know anything about cheerleading?" I ask, dumping my book bag on her floor. "Or am I going to have to start you off nice and easy and tell you what a jumping jack is?"

With a hostility and fire that I wasn't expecting she turns around faster than a bolt of lightning. Her face is so close I can smell the mint on her breath, "For your information, I've been cheering since middle school." Her eyes burn into mine. I can practically feel her scorching my insides. If looks could kill hers would certainly be the example. "I have, in fact, been top of the cheerleading pyramid for two years running. And I mastered the round off double back handspring back tuck by sophomore year."

Fuck her. And fuck that fucking twinkle in her eye that thinks she's bested me. Fuck her for coming in and stealing what was supposed to be my position and my position alone. I don't care about her background. I don't care how much pep she's got in her pinky finger alone. Even if her reputation is better than about half of my Cheerio's it doesn't matter. I don't need her here and I don't want her here. Fuck her experience. Fuck her rich, mansion living ass, and fuck her gorgeous hazel eyes that challenge mine for beauty of the school.

I take a step closer, so close that if one of us moved forewords just another inch her supple, pink lips would be touching mine. Not that I want that. "I nailed my round off double back handspring back tuck by freshman year, bitch." I can't even hide the smirk on my face. "And I had only been cheering for a year before that. You think you're such hot shit?" I raise an amused eyebrow. "My water girl could outdo your pathetic cheer skills." I sneer sarcastically as I say cheer skills. As if they could even be called that.

Neither one of us looks away. I finally understand what people mean when they say they could cut the tension with a knife or whatever. If any random observer came in right now and witnessed us, there'd be no doubt of what was going on. I can practically feel my skin on fire, scorched from the heat of hers.

We stay like this for what feels like an eternity, but I'm sure is only a couple of seconds. "This is childish," she finally hisses, challenging me to look away.

Childish or not, there's no way I'm looking away. "Then look away."

She raises an incredibly sexy but far more infuriating eyebrow. We remain like this for a couple more seconds, her lips pouted ever so slightly. "Fine," she finally says. She holds my gaze for one second more before she finally looks away.

It barely seems to matter who honestly won the indeterminable contest. Either way it still feels so good to have the blood rushing in my veins, pumping loudly in my ears. It feels good to be challenged.

I feel oddly alive.

**TiMER**

Quinn P.O.V

For the first time in days I breathe easily. Thankfully, she's in class right now as I have a free period.

I can't be around her. Firstly, she's absolutely infuriating. She's probably the rudest, most judgmental person I've ever met. She's exactly the kind of person I don't need to be surrounding myself with. Secondly, and more importantly, I know what I felt during the planning meeting at my house and it never faded, not even for a second, until she left. And that's not something I can be messing around with if I want to survive.

Yet, as though the universe is playing a twisted game with me, I am shackled to her for the next two years due to this stupid social hierarchy.

"Hey gorgeous," I hear an unknown voice whisper in my ear. Immediately, ice floods my veins and my teeth begin to grate against each other. I can practically hear the douchebag in his voice.

Out of sheer curiosity, something I've always had a bit too much of, I turn around. Immediately I'm faced with a reasonably muscular build and an oily face – both literally and figuratively. Based on the long, stupid hair, unappealing face, and missing tooth in his smile I figured he was a hockey player. My theory was only confirmed by his jersey. My only response is a silent eyebrow raise asking him what he wants.

"My name's McAvoy," he says with a cocky smile. It occurs to me how if Santana looked at me like this I'd probably melt into a puddle of goop, but it's nothing more than a flash-second thought. I suppose arrogance can only be attractive on a certain few. He attempts to lean coolly against the lockers to his left, but I think it would more accurately be called a "fall and stumble to remain on your feet."

I giggle. "McAvoy?" I've never heard such a stereotypically douchebag-hockey-guy name.

"Yeah, I'm sure you've heard my name mentioned around," he says suavely, still believing that he had a chance. "I'm pretty much the star of the hockey team."

Just as I'm about to turn him down right here, right now and stop this flirtation before it even gets off the ground a thought pops into my head. My dad would be absolutely livid to see me flirting, even for fun, with anybody.

Maybe some light teasing could be a lot of fun?

"Oh really?"

"Hell yeah," he says enthusiastically. "So, what's your name?"

"Quinn."

"Beautiful name for a beautiful girl." I laugh, which makes him smile, which only makes me laugh more. Firstly, it's funny because we both know Quinn is not an inherently beautiful name. It's an awkward, one syllable, unisex name and, honestly, it's not even my name. The thing that turns casually funniness to hilarity is the fact that he thinks he's actually making me laugh when really, I'm only laughing at him.

"Maybe I can show you around the ice sometime. I'm, uh, very skilled with my stick." He winks in a way that could actually make me vomit in my mouth.

I take a step closer, my hand just barely brushing against his crotch. I bat my eyes a couple times, staring directly at him him for a solid five seconds before immediately backing away with complete disinterest. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline the offer," I say, looking indifferently off to the side.

"What!"

"Yeah, I just can't with all the school work piling on and all," I reply. I had my fun and now I'm done with this conversation. I turn to walk away from this conversation, but a strong, meaty hand ambushes me, latching onto my arm.

"Hey wait a second," he says in frustration.

"Let go of my arm!" I demand harshly, trying to pull out of his grip.

"No! I'm confused because you definitely just sent me some serious signals and now you're just gonna leave?"

"There were no signals," I insist. A complete lie, but they were just to mess with him, and more importantly my father. They didn't mean anything. "Now let me go!"

"Wait hold up," he says, pulling me closer. "There's no need to feel ashamed of what we have baby." He moves my body roughly between him and the lockers.

"Stop!" He leans in closer until I can feel the warm pressure of his body against mine.

"Babe, c'mon give in to how you're feeling. Don't run from this feeling, huh?"

I can feel panic begin setting in at the feeling of entrapment. You'd think I'd be used to it by now considering I've never not been trapped, but I can still feel the panic and constriction of breath one might expect. "Let me go," I continue to insist, more fear than powerful control as it was before.

"HEY!" I recognize the voice instantly. It's in its usual tone, forceful and commanding. But there's something different about it, something I've never really heard in it before. Absolute, unencumbered rage. I quickly laugh at how harsh and rough such an angelic, sultry voice can sound. "GET THE FUCK OFF OF HER!"

I turn my head towards the sound of **her** voice, stunned to see my savior striding purposefully down the hallways. I realize just how scared I am of her as she barrels confidently down the hallway. The funny thing is, all she's doing is walking – swiftly I must add – but still walking. As if running to my defense would be beneath her. She has no need to run because she's going to kick his ass no matter what and walking's more fun because then it gives her more time to see the terror slowly process in his mind and BAM suddenly appear across his horror stricken face.

Unfortunately for him, his mind had probably suffered one too many hockey induced concussions and it was taking a little extra time for him to realize this fear. "Hey, woah, Lopez." He turns towards her, opening up the space between him and my body enough for me to slip further away, but still not entirely out of his reach. "Chill, Quinn and I were just getting to know one another is all."

She immediately closes all distance between her and the muscle-head, forcing him to take a submissive step back. "When a lady tells you to stop, you stop, asshole. Now, I suggest you walk away and never bother the lady again or I **will** tear you down until you are inevitably forced to switch schools or, better yet, forced to cut your wrists because I will make your life miserable. ¿lo entiendes?"

And somewhere in that numbskull brain of his, even if a part of it was in Spanish, she got her point across. "Yeah okay, Lopez," he says. He backs up, hands up in surrender, with a swift but cautious step.

I can tell just from his relaxed grin he's learned nothing.

"And don't you ever call me Lopez again!" she calls out as he leaves.

The moment he moves around the corner and the two of us hear the slam of a closing door she breaks out in a slew of, what I can only assume to be, curses in Spanish. "gilipollas de mierda. Debo deber patada su polla.

Hearing her speak Spanish is odd. It's… kind of hot to be honest. FUCK I CAN'T BE HAVING THESE THOUGHTS.

Focus, Quinn. She just saved me. Why did she just save me? She didn't have to. She could've just left me trapped between the lockers and that meat-headed hockey player. She absolutely hates me. Why wouldn't she leave me?

¿Cómo se atreve ese cabrón toque esa chica!"

Fuck, no. Now is not the time for wondering about her heroic gestures or how hot she is when she's speaking Spanish. Now is the time to take action and fucking cool her down. First off, she needs to start speaking English.

"Estoy irá a la casa de ese bebé perra y yo asesinar a ese tipo."

How do I stop her though? I mean, I probably shouldn't even engage with her for the purpose of maintaining my safety at this point. She looks like she could blow up at anybody or anything right now she's so goddamned pissed. And of course I'd be the perfect target considering she hates me so much already.

"Nadie nunca sabrá."

Fuck, I just have to swallow my fear. "Santana!" I grip my hands on her shoulders, grounding her to Earth and away from whatever hellish thoughts she had been having. "Stop speaking Spanish!"

"Muchacha blanca no le gusta cuando hablo español?" She looks angrily at me, as if she's expecting me to respond.

"Santana, I don't know what you're saying!"

"De puta supuesto tenía que ser rubia." She sighs. "What?"

Her question, and the English, catches me by surprise. What? What what? I don't know what. What do I want? What is taking me so long to thank her? What just happened? What? "I… uh, thank you." I say, covering all of my bases.

"For what?" She's still severely suffering from PFFD: Post fight fury disorder.

"Well, firstly for speaking English," this wins me an eye roll, "and secondly from… helping out back there."

"Yes. Well, as much as I hate you, I hate entitled douchebag hockey players even more. Plus, I didn't need to hear your stupid white ass complaints about being 'assaulted' later today on the field. It would distract from practice and all."

Unbelievable! This girl comes in and completely helps me. She defends me against a guy whose, quite frankly a hell of a lot bigger than her. She has no allegiance to me. She doesn't even like me. And she chalks it up to hating other people more than me and not hearing me bitch. She won't even accept responsibility when it's nothing but praise.

Is she really so stubborn as to just say she at least cares for my well being in some capacity or is she really that much of a stubborn child? I'm almost tempted to tear into her about it, but know that I shouldn't. I owe her nothing but gratitude right now, as much as I hate to admit it. "Regardless, thank you."

"Your welcome. So, are we good?"

It's such a loaded question. She doesn't mean it like one, of course. She just wants to get the hell out of here; maybe to get back to class quickly, but far more likely she just wants to leave to avoid this awkward situation she's created in which she might actually have to admit she cares about someone besides herself. Still, to me it feels like the true answer is a pivotal, defining moment. If we are 'good' it means that we're in an okay place. We are friends. We are allies.

Are we good?

"Yeah. We're good."

 **Spanish translations for this section:**

 **gilipollas de mierda. Debo deber patada su polla. = Fucking asshole. I should kick his cock.**

" **¿Cómo se atreve ese cabrón toque esa chica!" = How dare that asshole touch her!**

" **Estoy irá a la casa de ese bebé perra y yo asesinar a ese tipo." = I'm going to the house of that bitch baby and I kill that guy!**

" **Nadie nunca sabrá." = Nobody will ever know.**

" **Muchacha blanca no le gusta cuando hablo español" = White girl doesn't like it when I speak Spanish?**

" **De puta supuesto tenía que ser rubia!" = Of course it had to be a blonde bitch!"**

**TiMER**

"How in the hell did I get roped into this?"

At first this didn't sound like such a bad idea, but now I have to say I am inclined to agree.

"What? I don't see any rope around you, San?" Brittany says. Brittany is… mind-numbingly stupid, but she has a very lovable charm about her that has grown on me. There's something so positive and so infectious about her attitude that no matter how shitty my day is, when she's around I feel a little bit happier.

Santana sighs and rolls her eyes dramatically, but doesn't say a word against her. I've never seen Santana say a word against Brittany. "Britt, keep your eyes on what you're doing or you're going to hurt yourself." Brittany seems to be the only person she really cares about.

Britt looks back down, following Santana's instruction as she continues on rolling the dough beneath her fingers. "These are going to be delicious!" she says excitedly, all of her focus still staying on the dough beneath her fingers. "I've never made cookies that didn't burn before, but now that you guys are here they're going to be perfect. I can just feel it!"

The two of them go on to argue which cookie type is truly the best. Brittany argues in favor of the most disgustingly sweet, unnecessary rainbow-esque cookie I've ever heard of. Santana takes the side of good, old-fashioned chocolate cookies, an argument I certainly support a bit more, not that I'd ever give her the satisfaction of taking her side.

Suddenly, an unexpected voice says an unexpected phrase. "You're awfully quiet over there, Q." I didn't really expect her to acknowledge my presence if she wasn't forced to.

She's never called me Q before… It's not awful.

I shrug my shoulders before I realize Santana probably can't see me since Brittany is standing between us. I don't really feel like I should be talking, to be honest. It's clear Santana's been here before considering the fact that she knew where Brittany's rolling pins were located before Brittany did. Santana and her have a rhythm that they're used to. I'm just the third wheel who shouldn't be here in the first place. The less I make my presence known the better, I'm sure. "Just concentrating," I reply neutrally.

"C'mon Quinn. I know you have some sort of opinion or unwanted comment to throw in, as always," goads Santana.

"If it's unwanted, why should I say it anyways?" I quip.

"Because I could really use a laugh," she replies. I can practically feel my blood boiling. Must she always have an infuriating response for everything! Can she never just let me alone.

"Santana," warns Brittany.

"What?" she replies innocently. "Quinn and I are supposed to be bonding. Wasn't that the point of this 'playdate,' anyways?" she sneers. "We can't be bonding if she won't even talk."

"She makes a really good point, Quinn," replies Brittany. Damn her for being so easily influenced.

"See Quinn. I make a good point. Amuse me," Santana replies, popping a piece of dough into her mouth.

"Fine. Brittany's right. You're wrong." I completely disagree with everything I'm saying, obviously. Chocolate chip cookies are obviously the best kind of cookie and anyone who says otherwise is sick and twisted. But I'd rather be sick and twisted that giving Santana the satisfaction of siding with her.

"Psht. You're just saying that because you want to prove me wrong."  
She's not wrong. "You're wrong."

"C'mon Q, everybody knows chocolate chip cookies are the best."

"They're kind of gross and disappointing. They're too hard, you can't shape them, and they're never sweet enough."

"Quinn," says an exasperated Santana. "Literally everybody's heard of chocolate chip cookies. You don't become known all around the world as the most beloved cookie if everybody secretly hates them."

"Hive mind, peer pressure, and the evolution of taste buds," I reply with lightning speed. "My cookies are clearly superior."

" _My_ cookies? Can you even tell me their name?" she challenges.

Fuck. She's got me there. All I know is that they sound disgusting. I could either take a guess or I could remain silent. Either way she wins and I'll look stupid.

"I'm not justifying that."

"Hah! Like I thought," Santana replies triumphantly.

I consider saying letting it go. I really do. She'd won and I'd have to accept my defeat like a mature, smart grown up. I am a mature, smart grown-up. I should just overcome this ridiculous, petty fighting – about cookies of all things! But I can't seem to let it go. Something about her just presses all my buttons all the wrong ways. I'm not going to give in. "At least my cookies aren't world-famous for being easy all around the school," I mutter under my breath.

"What did you just say, bitch?"

"Oh, you heard me," I chuckle.

"Well, at least I'm not some sexually-repressed bitch who then takes out her frustration on everybody else," Santana replies.

"I'm not sexually repressed!" I can hear my voice go higher. "I'm just not whoring myself out to every guy in the school!"

" _Not sexually repressed_? Oh please! I've seen you out on that field barking orders like mad, wishing more than anything that the reason you're sweating is anything but what you're doing." She teases in the most seductive voice possible and I can feel my skin burn up in anger.

"Guys, this is a safe space. No more fighting," Brittany says calmly. I barely even hear her. The smoke coming out of my ears is probably blocking her out.

"At least my greatest accomplishment in life isn't going to be the number of STI's I got!"

I barely see it coming. Suddenly, there's an average-sized piece of white, powder dough flying at my face come to knock me across the cheek. It feels sticky and hard against my cheek. As soon as it hits its mark, it leaves and falls to the floor. It doesn't really hurt that much since it's all stretched out. It'd be worse if she'd had the time to roll it into a more compact ball. The not-compacted piece of dough is accompanied by an infuriated, "Fuck you!"

Recovering quickly, I drag my hand across my cheek to dust off any dough left on my cheek. She's not going to seduce me into this barbaric battle. I am going to remain above that. I will not let her faze me. "Strike a nerve did I? What, can't handle the truth?"

Suddenly, another piece of dough was launched at my face.

Is she seriously just going to launch pieces of dough at me?

Fuck being above it all.

Suddenly, Brittany's kitchen becomes a mess of spattered dough, war cries, and the occasional call for peace by the other blonde herself. Of course, the call for peace fell on deaf ears as Santana and I went at it like we were legitimately part of a war. I ducked down to the other side of the counter, and she to her own, as I blindly grabbed pieces of dough with my hands and prepared to launch.

Somewhere in the midst of all the anger and back and forth taunts from our respective sides of the counter, the anger was lost. Eventually, we just continued on for fun. Brittany stopped shouting peace and got more into it than the two of us and took to her own side. The three of us were laughing and dodging until there was no more batter left to throw.

Brittany's kitchen looked like a hurricane had swept through.

Eventually, we all crawled our way to a common side of the counter, sitting on the floor laughing about how ridiculous but fun that was. When the laughter finally calmed down, it was Brittany who took control.

"Now, we're all going to say something nice about each other."

"What? Why!" Santana bemoaned like a whining child, but she wasn't truly upset.

"Because this is a bonding sleepover and we need to bond! I'll start," Brittany says, turning to me first. "Quinn, you threw a really good shot at me and admire your female-warrior finesse. Santana, I love your protective heart. You're also really good in bed," she winks.

The statement immediately catches me off guard. Are they… sleeping together? Is Santana bisexual? I glance over at Santana and the deep red blush confirms it.

One thousand and one thoughts run through my mind all at once and I'm left with a ton of questions. Back at Dalton one of my best friends, Blaine was gay. I had a couple questions of course, but it was fine. For some reason this feels… less fine. There's something different about this statement that I can't quite put my finger on. This means something that makes my heart race quicken and my breath intake stop for a moment.

"Santana," Brittany urges.

Santana rolls her eyes, pretending to play off the statement as if she doesn't care. AKA, her typical attitude. "Brittany, I like your, oh I don't know… positive attitude?" Brittany smiles wide, probably wide enough to make the whole world smile with her.

Santana looks wearily at me as if she can't decide whether or not she's going to answer seriously or not. "Q, you're a lot of things. You're a bitch, a prude, a hard-ass, a bit of a pompous know-it-all-" Brittany sends Santana a pointed glare that could make hell freeze over. Santana sighs. "BUT, I guess you're not _awful_. I can… respect some of your choices."

"Wow thanks," I respond sarcastically.

"You're welcome," she says with a sneer of her nose and snark in her voice.

I roll my eyes. "Britt, you've always made me feel at McKinley. You've made McKinley feel more like a home." I admit, there are a lot of negative things I could say about Brittany, but god I would feel like an asshole. She's probably the only person at McKinley who's been unselfishly kind to me at every turn. Of course I still keep in constant contact with my best friend Rachel from Dalton, but I could undoubtedly qualify Brittany as my closest friend at McKinley.

"Santana… you can be excruciatingly exhausting, but when it comes down to it I know you have my back."

I can tell Santana wants to say something back. She wants to affirm that no she doesn't and that we are not friends. But she bites her tongue in favor of the truth.

"YAY! Now we're all best friends for life!" Brittany says attacking the two of us in a literally breathtaking three-way hug.

"I wouldn't go that far," responds a breathless Santana.

"Oh hush, you!"

**TiMER**

Santana's POV

Things changed after we all hung out at Brittany's. It's like… some barrier was broken down between Quinn and I. It was like by acknowledging those things about each other we acknowledged that maybe, just maybe we didn't hate each other. Plus, Brittany forced us to water veggie tales later and Quinn and I bonded together in our mutual hatred of Larry the Cucumber.

Suddenly, we all started hanging out more as friends. We'd already been hanging out since Quinn and I were both Cheerio's captains and Britt was friends with her, but Quinn and I kept each other at arm's length and didn't talk unless we had to. I liked it that way. I didn't have to deal with her as much and she was so busy ignoring me I got the prime opportunity to stare at her sometimes. I may not have liked her, but she was easy on the eye after all.

Quinn and Sam had been partners during Glee club since day 1. I always figured they had something else going on behind the scenes, but I suppose not because Sam eventually asked out Brittany. The second those two paired up Quinn and I lost our respective partners, so it only made sense that the two of us join together. It worked well too. I have a stronger voice than her and I tend to have more stage presence, but it all balances out because she has the vision and creativity that make our performances fire.

She's really not so bad now that I know her. Yeah she can still be a bitch and she's in all these AP classes so sometimes she thinks she's better than me, but she also walked five miles with me during her lunch period just so I could buy my brand of lipstick when I had run out the period beforehand. She is surprisingly kind and gentle, especially around kids. When I had to babysit my younger brother Quinn came over to work on a project. The two of them clicked instantly and it was a sight to see. She's also the only woman I know who can match me toe-to-toe. She's not the type to just lie down and take what I give her.

And, like I said, she's not bad on the eyes. Plus, her voice was out of this world.

So yeah, maybe she wasn't so bad.

And yeah, maybe I had a tiny bit of a crush on her.

Not that it mattered much anyways. She's probably straight because who in the world lives in Lima, Ohio whose gay?

"What are you thinking about?" she asks.

I'm thinking about you and how all I really want to do is sit up and straddle you. "Nothing," I reply automatically. It's not like I'd tell her what I was thinking anyways.

"Okay." She doesn't push. I've always liked that about her. She knows when to push and when not to. It's like she has a guide to me and how to react to my every emotion even when I don't know how I want her to react.

I snuggle deeper into her side, my head resting on her shoulder and my nose nuzzled into her neck. She smells nice. It's nothing fancy. She just smells like a clean shower and its pleasant.

It feels so weird to be in this position. It feels oddly intimate. This feels closer than what friends do. Especially friends like us. This is a position of safety and comfort, but we're at each other's throats 70% of the time. I should probably move back to my side of the bed away from her. Our throats are too vulnerable to slit from here.

But I don't move. And maybe it's because I'm not in 5 AP classes like she is or maybe it's because I'm too lazy and tired to move right now, but maybe it's because I know she won't go for the jugular right now.

I don't know whether I like the latter idea or not.  
Out of the blue Quinn asks, "Are you and Brittany…" She leaves the question hanging for me to answer.

"Together?"

"Yea."

"No. Not anymore."

"I just… wanted to be sure… for Sam."

I move away from her shoulder to look her in the eyes. She's biting on her lip and looks a little guilty. "You really think I'd do that."

"I wasn't really sure," she admits, not meeting my eyes. Back at each other's throats I guess. I can't believe that, even after we've become friends, she'd still think so little of me. I may not like the idea of giving up Brittany, especially to some dumb boy in some stupid monogamous relationship, but I can respect it. It's what she wants. I can't believe Quinn would think anything otherwise. Somebody from outside our tight-knit circle, sure. But Q? She's supposed to know me better than that. I thought she trusted me. I'm about to move across the bed, to where I should be away from this stupid intimate position where she can cut my throat, but then she looks me straight in the eye and says something else. "But now I do."

I'm still mad. I'll probably still be mad for at least 3 days, but those four words leave me mollified. She's apologizing. She's making a promise to trust me in the future. I settle back down on her shoulder.

She waits a few more minutes before speaking up again. "I've always wanted a Timer."

That seems weird to me. I know people usually love their Timers. They reaffirm that, yes you are making the right decision. I've never liked mine. "You can always get one," I offer. "It's not like its out of your price range."

I can practically feel her glaring at me. She hates it when I bring up our income disparity. Usually because I sound salty. Can you blame me? I live in Lima Heights and she lives in the swankiest neighborhood around. I can't say I regret being a little mad at the universe over the fact some people have it so good when others have it so bad. "That's precisely the reason I can't," she says mournfully.

"What? That doesn't really make any sense." I begin to sit up again so I can look at her while we talk about this, but her hand stops me.

"The Fabray company, we're rich." Tell me something I don't know. "My father is determined to keep our wealth growing. When I'm older, about college aged, he'll set me up with all the eligible bachelors who have their big fortune 500 companies to inherit. If I have a Timer and my soul mate isn't some rich guy it's there forever as living proof and nobody wants to marry out of something other than true love. It's bad for the people in the marriage just as much as it is for the press."

What breaks my heart isn't so much the story, but the way she tells it. So neutral. So bland in voice. Like she's already accepted that she's just going to let true love slip through her fingers when there's a Timer store not thirty minutes from here.

"That's ridiculous!"

"Yeah, but that's how it is."

"That's not how it should be. You can change it Quinn."

"No I can't."

"What? That's crazy. You can do anything you want and you _want_ a Timer."

"It's fine. I've already accepted it," she says with a slight hint of bitterness in her voice. Otherwise she's just as neutral as when she told the story. "It's just still… something I would've liked."

"Q, I'll take you to the Timer store myself." I spring up off the bed to grab my coat. I admit, somewhere in my mind, I'm not doing this entirely unselfishly. There's a part of me that hopes that maybe if she gets a Timer mine will go off too. "He can't just dictate major life choices like this."

"You don't understand," Quinn says despondently. "If I get a Timer he'll disown me for screwing up… and I can't just loose him. He's my father." Everything in her voice is pleading for me to stop.

And I do.

"I understand," I say, slowly putting my coat down back down on my chair. "I uh… I do understand." I take a seat down on the chair holding my jacket as Quinn raises an eyebrow, knowing that I'm not saying everything.

I let out a sigh. I didn't think I'd ever really have to… say this. I never thought I'd actually tell someone. "I, uh… I'm not a huge fan of guys." I glance up at Quinn, whose face remains unreadable. I look back down at the floor. "Like, at all." I can feel my hands getting clammy. What if Quinn doesn't approve of being gay? I know she knows about Britt and I but what if she assumes its just a phase and isn't actually okay with it. I glance back up, hoping for something – anything – only to find nothing on her face. She nods neutrally. The fact that she's not fleeing or cussing me out right now gives me something vaguely like hope. "My abuelita… she's very set in her ways. I'm afraid that… someday my Timer will go off and it'll be some girl. And then I'll lose my abuelita."

"Seriously?" A disbelieving look crosses her face. It's like she's outraged. "I can't believe it. All I want is a Timer and all you want is to be rid of yours." She scoffs angrily. "Talk about fucked up."

**TiMER**

Quinn P.O.V

"What are you in the mood for?" Santana asks.

"Um… what are my options?"

"We have the Grudge, The Human Centipede, Legally Blonde, Oculus, and Silver Lining's Playbook, Apartment 143, Chucky, and Scream."

"Which are…?"

"Horror, Horror, Comedy, Horror, Romance, Horror, Horror, Horror, and Horror."

"Wow, why am I not at all surprised that a majority of that was horror?" I tease. She shrugs with a devilish smile.

"Hm… I'm not really in the mood for a horror movie," I think out loud.

"Scaredy-cat," she says, sticking her tongue out tauntingly.

"Fuck you. I just happen to have broadened horizons beyond your limited scope of horror movies," I respond, popping a couple kernels of popcorn into my mouth.

"Did you not hear the comedy and romance I listed?"

"I'm shocked you even own a romance," I snort. "What is it? A romance where everybody is brutally chopped up by an axe murderer in the end?"

"No! Although it would certainly make it more interesting."

"Have you already seen it? Santana, we agreed no movies you've already seen. You always spoil them ahead of time!"

"Nah, I just watched the trailer. There's no way this is a slaughter."

"Well, I'm proud that you've at least got one movie that's not completely fucked up."

"Whatever. So, Legally Blonde or Silver Lining?"  
"Legally Blonde."

"I was hoping you'd say that. Now I get to make dumb blonde jokes the whole time." I send her an evil glower.

"Oh please. All my classes are higher than yours."

"There's more than one type of intelligence," she quips back.

I concede to her point. I may be able to solve a quadratic equation but I'd be useless alone in Lima Heights. I'd probably get myself murdered. "Oh shut up and sit down!"

I can barely pay attention during the movie. Our hands have been touching this whole time and for some reason the light of the TV keeps catching her face perfectly. She looks… gorgeous.

I hate it so much. I hate how she makes me feel. Every time I'm around her I can feel myself losing control. She manages to push all my buttons until I explode. I'm used to keeping my emotions well in check, but somehow around her I can't seem to do it. It's like, around her, I'm allowed to be free to be me.

I can be the girl who fucking hates Biff McIntosh or the girl who resents her father a little bit or the girl who really can't stand ketchup or the girl who thinks both guys and girls are attractive. I can be every facet of who I am without judgment.

"Q?"

I blink my eyes a couple times and I'm drawn back to reality. It takes me a few seconds to realize just how close Santana and I are. I can practically feel her breath against my cheek. It smells like popcorn. "Yeah?" I know I should move back, but I can't seem to pull myself from her mesmerizing, chocolate brown eyes.

"You were staring," she rasps in a voice lower than normal.

"Oh." Her tongue comes out to quickly lick her lips. My eyes flicker down to watch.

"Quinn?" I can feel my heartbeat racing faster. I wonder if she can hear it its pumping so hard. Maybe hers is beating just as loud and just as fast. I wish mine would shut the fuck up so I could check if hers is doing the same.

"Yea." All I want is for her to kiss me, which is unnerving. Usually if I find someone attractive I just suppress it. The guy with the perfect eyebrows and the hair I'd love to run my fingers through doesn't matter. The girl with the full, red lips and strong jawline doesn't matter. I know that no matter what it won't happen. That's not my fate.

But with Santana? Like I said, things are different with her.

"If I kissed you right now, would you object?" I'd giggle if I weren't ready to combust right here and now. I'd never picture Santana to be the type to ask permission before kissing a girl. It's… sweet.

One word defines it all. "No."

And just like that, her lips connect with mine. Although, that'd be an inaccurate description. On a physical level, yes, her soft, pillow-y lips latched onto mine passionately. But poets came up with metaphors because what's happening on the physical level is never enough. It felt like… flying. It felt like I had risen above the rest and learned some new, holy secret and the only two people in the world who knew it was Santana and I. It felt like, chains getting ripped off because now the the two of us could just fly free, aided by each other. It felt like watching a flower bloom all at once or fire burning everything in site until fire's the only thing left.

At some point the popcorn bowl must've fell onto the ground because Santana was hovering over me, furiously kissing me. My lips almost hurt from kissing, but what else is to be expected? As if the two of us could ever _really_ do anything gently. Her tongue peeks out and swipes over my lips, asking for permission. I decide not to grant it. As much as I'd love to go further – hell I'd love to start stripping her of clothes right now – I'm also aware that I don't want that to be our first kiss.

She doesn't push it and we pull back naturally. "Woah," is all I can muster up.

"Woah," Santana confirms, falling back onto her half of the couch, which is now covered in scattered the popcorn.

"So… that happened."

"Yea," I confirm, still dazed.

"So… Legally Blonde?" I look over at her for a second, sitting there with her hopeful smile. Of course she wouldn't talk about it. This is Santana Lopez we're talking about here. I chuckle.

"Yea," I say with a smile. "First off though, we should clean up this popcorn."

**TiMER**

Santana's POV

"Why are you in here?" I say, appearing behind Quinn, sitting in the Glee club room at the piano with a laptop in her lap.

"I needed to focus," she says distractedly.

"Babe, you are waayy to stressed out. I could see your hunched shoulders and desire to pace from across the room."

"I have a lit. paper due tomorrow along with an APUSH test, a French speaking quiz, and a babysitting gig. I'm kind of dying." She doesn't even look up from her laptop. I glance down at the page count, page 6/6. I can practically feel my eyes rolling so much that they're at the back of my head. Overachieving Quinn.

"Q, you need to take a break and blow off some steam."

"Not now, S. I'm almost down with my third body paragraph." I let out a heaving sigh as I drop my backpack down by the legs of the piano. Inattentive girlfriend. Minus one point.

I suppose I'll just have to get her attention some other way. I quickly lean down by her and begin kissing her neck. She tenses up for a split second, before falling into it. Goddamn she smells good. "Santana," she mewls. "Stop."

I move up to her ear, nibbling on the shell. "Nope."

"Babe, I have to finish this." I glance down at her hands, clenched into a fist against the piano bench.

"I don't take kindly to being ignored," I say, making my way back down to her neck.

"I see that," she says with shallow breaths. Should this be so fun? God I love her skin. It's so soft… and easily marked. The second the thought enters my head I can't resist. I sink my teeth into her neck, ever so slightly, leaving faint bite marks.

Her high pitched yelp of surprise is the sexiest thing I've ever heard. Immediately, I let go of my latch on her neck and jump up onto the side of the piano.

"SAN!" she says, frustrated but not angry. "Did you leave a mark? I'm going to have to get concealer on this before going to class!"

I smile cheekily. "It's barely visible. Calm down, Q."

She huffs for a moment or two before her gaze turns back to her laptop. "I need to finish this, asshole."

"Oh no you don't!" With one of my legs I close the laptop's lid. "You need to calm down and stop stressing for a second. Blow off steam."

"Okay, what you just did does not help make me any calmer," Quinn retaliates.

"Yea, well, price to pay for not listening to your wonderful girlfriend," I reply sassily. "Luckily for you, since I am your wonderful girlfriend, I know exactly how to help!" She raises an eyebrow, just waiting with some quick retort on the tip of her tongue. "Devil's advocate!"

She sighs. "San, I don't have time."

"Sure you do."

"San…" She goes to reopen her laptop, but there's absolutely no way I'm letting that happen.

"Look, you play one round of devil's advocate with me and I'll come keep you company at your babysitting gig tonight."

She seems to roll the idea around in her mind a couple of times before finally responding. "Fine," she says, pulling her hand away from the opening of her laptop.

"So, what do you want to argue?"  
"I don't want to do anything too political."

"Okay. How about: Homework. Should you actually bother doing it or is it a waste of your time when you could be making out with your super hot, super fantastic girlfriend?" I send her my most charming smile.

"Har har," Quinn replies sarcastically.

"Also super funny," I add with a wink.

The two of us remain quiet for a couple moments while we try to brainstorm ideas. "Jay Gatsby: creepy or just romantic?" she suggests hopefully.

Oh my god I'm dating such a nerd – a hot and surprisingly cool nerd – but a nerd nonetheless. "Babe, you think I actually read that? I barely sparknoted it." Her smile falls a little. She's itching to fight about it because she's convinced Gatsby was just very romantic and wants to change everyone to her position. I walked in on her arguing about it with her best friend Rachel from Dalton Academy.

"Staying on the theme of fictional characters, how about Larry and Piper or Alex and Piper?" I suggest. The two of us have been watching OITNB as of late (that is, when she has the free time which is almost never).

 **AN:** **Spoilers ahead, but honestly, you could just avoid reading dialogue and you're fine.**

She scoffs. "Oh please. Nobody is Team Larry," she responds. "That's like… an impossible argument."

"Exactly!" I reply. "That's what makes it all the more fun." If there's one thing I know my girl can do well, it's argue. I should know, we do enough of it on a regular basis.

She considers the idea for a moment but we both know she's going to say yes. The challenge has been issued and there's no way either of us are backing down now. "Fine. Larry offers stability and safety. Alex is unpredictable. Her life requires her to travel the world away from Piper and if she doesn't fulfill what needs to be done she'll be murdered and maybe even Piper will be. Larry will always be there at the end of the day and she'll never be hurt or in danger with him."

"Stability and safety? That's your argument. Babe, you're off your game," I tease even though that's the exact argument I would've opened with. It's all about psyching the other opponent out. "Larry doesn't even have a job or a steady income. He's living off his parents' money! He has no financial stability. She's practically in danger of going to jail because their house will get foreclosed any day. No, Alex is the truly reliable one. There is always a market for drugs and she has shown she is willing to do whatever it takes to to supply that demand and she keeps Piper safe by financially providing and advises her to lie on the stand because Kubra will come after her otherwise."

"Safe?' She practically laughs. "Alex endangers her life time and time again!" She's placed her laptop to the side of her and is full force involved in this argument. I can practically see the cogs turning in her head, coming up with every argument and counter-argument. "The only reason Piper was being targeted was because of Alex plus Alex could go to jail at anytime and look, there goes the financial 'reliance' you were talking about. Larry is accepting and kind and ships checks out to Ohio and finds out she was a former lesbian and is now going to prison and still asks her to marry him!"

"Yeah and Larry overlooks everything he doesn't like about her whereas Alex sees her as she truly is. She sees that Piper is a manipulative, controlling bitch and loves her anyways and that's what this is about. Love."

"There's more than one way to love a person," Quinn argues. God I love this feeling. It's like my body is on fire and I love it. It's like the after feel of exercising when all the endorphins are released and you just feel good, except without being in physical agony. Your blood is pumping and you can feel your heart in your chest and you feel like you're living. Really living. "Larry clearly loves Piper and whose to say he doesn't see her flaws. They had a lemon cleanse and she broke her side of it. He sees that she's untrustworthy and sometimes she gives in to her desires but he loves not in spite of it like Alex, but because of it."

"He's not enough for Piper. She likes to live on the edge. That's why she goes off into a lesbian relationship with a drug dealer. That's why she starts that panty company in season 3. She likes to live on the edge."

"I beg to differ. She's a control freak. Sure she likes living on the edge, but only when it's under her control. The minute she's being manipulated or something doesn't go her way she's unhappy and runs."

I raise an eyebrow. "So your argument is: she loves Larry because she can manipulate him?"

She falters for a moment, realizing the major flaw in her argument. "Hold on and give me a second." She looks down for a moment, eyebrows furrowed as she tries to come up with a rebuttal or justification for her argument.

That's when it hits me. I didn't really expect it to be like this. I sort of figured I'd realize after some grand gesture or big reveal. It feels like such a big thing to realize that when it actually happens it's so plain and simple but it feels like it's the grandest moment of your life.

But I suppose that's the point, of realizing this now at least. It isn't about the big, grand gestures (although they're certainly nice). It's about the small things and every day life. It's realizing you love having someone around just to argue with about stupid shit like Orange is the New Black relationships.

"Q?"

"Give me a second I'm going to come up with something!" she makes a strange motion with her hand to shut me up.

"Q," I say more seriously. This time I'm not asking her to look at me, I'm telling her to.

"What?"

"I love you."

And finally I have made the girl who won't shut up speechless.

"Yea?"

"Yea." I've never been really comfortable with emotion to be honest. It's always felt a little… weird or not natural. But for some reason saying this just makes sense to me and I can't explain why. It doesn't really matter if she says it back right now. That's okay. It doesn't matter if she ever says it back because just loving her is enough.

But we've never been an 'enough' sort of relationship. It's always been over the top or nothing at all.

"I love you too."

**TiMER**

The text comes during the middle of math. Thankfully, I've never been a fan of math class, or really any class for that matter, so my phone was sitting out on my desk where I could read it. It's from The Bae (or, Quinn).

 **Come to the parking lot.**

A second text comes in only seconds later.

 **Now!**

Immediately I grab my phone and slip it under the desk so that the teacher doesn't see. After years of doing this for at least 6 hours a day, I've become virtually undetectable.

 **What's going on?**

The response only mystifies and intrigues me more.

 **Just come on.**

Quinn isn't usually like this. Sure she plays games and sometimes she likes to tease and surprise me in a janitor's closet here or there but this is different. Usually she flirts a little first to entice me out of class or sends me a very NSFW picture. This sounds desperate, not fun and playful.

Intrigued and a little concerned I stuff my phone in my back pocket and make my way out of the classroom. "Headache. Nurse," I reply tersely, already halfway out the door. I don't have time – nor respect for that mind-numbing asshole – to stop and actually ask if I can go.

The parking lot is pretty empty, but that's mostly because the school's drug dealing system has moved to under the bleachers instead of in parked cars. It's a better set up anyways, less teachers around by the bleachers.

Quinn is easy to spot, but then again I could pick Quinn out of a crowd with ease so I'm less than impartial. She's just sitting in her car behind the driver's seat, fingers tapping nervously with the engine running.

The second I enter the car I can feel the energy shift. I'm not one of those weirdo 'I can feel your aura today and its cloudy people' but the anxiety and fear rolling off of her was basically palpable.

I've never been very good at comforting people. I never know what to do, so usually I just write it off, add a snarky comment, and continue on as usual. I can tell for sure that is not what to do in this situation. I decide that lightly reaching and brushing her arm is what she needs here. "Q, baby?" I ask hesitantly.

What could this be about? Is she going to break up with me? No it couldn't be. But what if it is and I just missed all the signs? No it takes two people in a relationship. If I saw signs I'd recognize them even if it was only subconsciously. Still, what if I didn't?

What if it's something much, much worse? Is she dying? Does she have cancer? Oh please, God, don't let her have cancer. She's the best thing that'll ever happen to me and I can't lose her like this.

Maybe I've overthinking? It could be nothing. Maybe she's just nervous about something trivial. Maybe her grades dropped or her sister's coming home or she wants me to meet her parents (as a friend) and is afraid I'm going to make a bad impression.

But what if it's worse than anything I've even thought of?

It occurs to me that maybe she can feel my fear on top of hers and I'm just perpetuating more fear. I need to calm down and find out what's going on before the two of us combust.

"What's going on?" I ask gently.

She takes a few shallow breaths before responding. "You remember how you told me you love me the other day?"

Oh shit. "Yes?" I respond unsurely. Is she going to tell me this is all moving to fast and we need to break up? Is she going to tell me that she doesn't actually love me back? What if I misread all the signs? What if she's secretly a journalist like in _How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days_ and she was actually punking me for a bet this whole time.

"And you remember how I told you I love you too?"

"Yea?" Fuck. She's going to break up with me. I just know it. She's going to say she spoke hastily and she doesn't love me and we need to go our separate ways. I glance down at my TiMER with its blank numbers that indicate my soul mate doesn't have their TiMER yet. What are the odds that it's honestly Quinn, of all the people in the world? She probably thinks we don't have a chance in hell anyways.

"I don't want to lose you."

Wait… what? So she's not breaking up with me? I internally fist pump. "Baby, you're never going to lose me," I say, jumping back into comforting actions.

She clenches her jaw (and god it is sexy) before responding. "You're damn right." Her grip on the steering wheel clenches before her right hand departs the wheel and goes to take the car out of park. "That is why we're going to the Timer store and I am going to get my Timer and ours will go off at the same time and we nothing, not even my father and his stupid business marriages, will stop us."

And suddenly, we're off and backing out of the parking space at rapid speed.

Despite the thousands of terrified and excited thoughts running through my head, I'm only able to vocalize one, "You are so damn sexy."

**TiMER**

The two of us walk into the empty store hand in hand. She's gripping mine hard and I think it's supposed to make me feel good, like she believes in the strength of our relationship. But I can tell she's also gripping so hard because she's fucking terrified.

And who wouldn't be? Quinn's told me everything about her relationship with her dad and she is in all senses of the phrase, a daddy's girl. She's never disobeyed him before in her life because, besides the Timer thing, she's never strongly disagreed with anything he's mandated. And now she's standing up to him in one of the biggest, most relationship-crippling ways possible. She'd have to be a bit of a sociopath not to be afraid right now.

She walks up to the counter, all anger and bravery, but when she opens her mouth there's a slight shake to her words. I grip just a little bit tighter and run my thumb soothingly against hers. "I want a Timer," she demands proudly.

The woman behind the counter smiles a bright, disgustingly optimistic smile. "Fantastic! Come with me and we'll set you up right over here in chair number 1. I'll have to ask you a couple of questions." The two of us follow her over and Quinn sits down on the chair, the kind at doctor's offices. Our hands never let go the entire time.

The woman from behind the counter grabs a clipboard with paperwork on it as she asks for all of Quinn's information: her name, her age, her date of birth, allergies, and her signature at 'here, here, and here' on the sheet.

"Is this your current partner?" she asks musingly curious.

"Yes," she affirms confidently. She glances over at me and I swear my smile has never been bigger. We've never actually said it out loud to anybody besides Brittany. Our whole relationship has been a very hush hush affair because of both of our families and it feels really fucking good to say it out loud.

"Okay, so, if this is your current partner then once this is installed both of your Timers will go off immediately," she says cheerfully.

We both nod.

"Are you ready?"

Quickly, I close my eyes and send up… I suppose it would be called a prayer. I know that the two of us are right. I know it. So please, God, or whatever nature allows for the Timer's, let me be right.

The woman takes the Timer gun and, essentially, stamps the Timer onto Quinn's arm.

I don't even have time to check if Quinn is okay or if it hurt. The sound of steady beeping, like the sound of two heartbeats matching up, interrupts me. Normally I can't stand the sound of incessant beeping. It reminds me of alarm clocks and fire alarms and all other manner of things unholy.

But now, I think, they may be my favorite sound in the world.

**TiMER**

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Quinn asks.

I take a deep breath in. "Yea, I'm sure."

"I'm here for you, babe, you know that."

"Yea, of course," I say with a small smile. I lean over and kiss her on the cheek one last time before we meet my personal hell. "I wonder which one she'll be more disappointed in: the fact that I'm gay or the fact that my girlfriend has pink hair now."

She smirks. "Hopefully neither."

I take one last breath before I knock on the door in front of me. I can practically feel each individual bone in my body jittering nervously. I can do this. I can do this. Quinn was brave enough to stand up to her prick of a father, I have to be worthy of her and confront my fears too.

Plus, Q is living with me now after her dad kicked her out and Thanksgiving is coming up fast. Might as well explain this shit before abuelita comes over anyways.

The second the door opens up I can feel my pulse go from 0 to 100 as the weight of the decision I'm about to make actually rains down on me full force. "Santana?"

"Hey abuelita."

"Oh it's so lovely to see you!" she pulls me in for a hug and I can't help but wonder if this is the last time I'll be enveloped in her embrace. I make sure to hold on a little longer than usual, just in case it is.

"And who is your… friend?" she says looking a bit disdainfully at her pink hair.

"Abuelita, this is Quinn. She's a… a very special friend of mine."

"Okay." She's still leery of her, but accepts and invites her in the house nonetheless. The two of us follow her into the kitchen as she talks on about being unprepared and berates me for not warning her to 'pretty herself up.'

"Abuelita, you're already beautiful," I reply sincerely.

"Oh you hear this little liar," she jokes, addressing Quinn.

"I haven't heard any lies yet, ma'am," Quinn responds. God my girlfriend is a charmer. I wish I could kiss her right now for just… saying all the right things.

"I like this girl, Santana. Why can't you ever find a boy like her?" Fuck. Fuck. Fuck my life. "You girls want something to eat? I have some home made salsa, although I warn you white girl, this is not for the faint of heart."

"No, no that's fine abuelita. Why don't you just come and… and sit down for a moment."

"No! No! I'd be a terrible hostess if I didn't put out food for you and your friend."

"Abuelita, it's fine I promise," I say with a bit of a chuckle. Of course my abuelita would insist on feeding us. She's always so kind and compassionate putting others first. It's on of the reasons I'm afraid of losing her. "Sit down."

"Ay, Santana, alright," she says giving in. She throws the dish towel on the table and collapses into a chair beside me. "What is happening, Santana? Why are you here?"

"I… have something to tell you." I gulp nervously.

"Yes, yes so out with it."

"Abuelita I… I love girls the way I'm supposed to like boys." I can feel Quinn's hand reach for mine underneath the table where my abueltia can't see. My abuelita's smile has dropped and god it makes me want to hurl. "This is such an important part of who I am and you're such an important part of my life. I wanted you to know this because you can't really know me without it. And I do want you to know me. Quinn, she's my soul mate." Her eyes flash to look at my Timer just in case I'm lying. "And she makes me so happy. And I want you to know the girl who makes me so happy."

She stays silent for a long time. I'm just about to ask her to say something, anything, when she opens her mouth. "I can't say I'm pleased, Santana. But you are mi nieta and I will love you regardless of who you love." I can feel the tears of relief streaming down my face. I immediately go to hug her, just thankful that last time was not the last.

"Gracias, abuelita," I whisper in her ear.

"Te amo, mi angel," she whispers back. When we disconnect I glance back at Quinn, whose just as happy as I am that my abuelita accepted the two of us.

"But, you will have to explain to me this… pink hair of yours."

Finish (something of this length - which is very long for a writer like me, although perhaps not all that long for other writers - didn't feel done without saying Finish).

 **When Quinn was being attacked it's all a bit fragmented what Santana's saying. But when she says "Of course it had to be a blonde bitch" she's actually supposed to be talking to herself about how of course she had to fall for a fucking white, blonde girl.**

 **I know things just started jumping and going fast by the end, but I mean, the point of sort of writing like this, in one-shots that aren't really one-shot, is to only include the relevant scenes so as much as I'd like to show you a date in between… it wasn't relevant.**

 **To the person who requested a student/teacher one-shot. I have it all outlined. I've always wanted to write a story of this category. The thing is I need time. Also, I am considering releasing it as its own individual story – although it will still be only a couple chapters. But the idea feels to big for a one-shot, although rather small in comparison to what I typically write.**


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